


The Devil Went Down to Oklahoma

by grumkin_snark



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumkin_snark/pseuds/grumkin_snark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ya gotta understand, I’m the best there ever been.  Ya don’t beat me.  I’m the Devil and that just ain’t done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Went Down to Oklahoma

Why don’t ya take a sit on down and let me tell ya a tale.  It ain’t long, so don’t up ’n leave, hear?

Ya gotta understand, I’m the best there ever been.  Ya don’t beat me.  I’m the Devil and that just ain’t done.  Sure, sometimes I don’t run a good schedule and don’t get the souls as I mean to, and I feel sick when that happens, but I always get ’em back.  Riots are good, wars are better.  It’s amazin’ the depths to which mortals’ll go to win.  Sometimes I gotta wait a whole lifetime, but I always get that what I came for.

’Cept once.  Many years ago it was, in one of those times where I was feelin’ sick, and really needed some more souls.  Well, I figured bum hole Oklahoma was a good spot, what with all them cowboys wantin’ fame ’n a whole herd of horses and those ladies a bit too-pretty (if ya know what I mean) wantin’ out.  Yeah, Oklahoma was a good place.

I came on down and seen this kid, couldn’t been more’n eighteen, one of those kids high on the promise of a better life.  He was drunk—or maybe not, even now I don’t know—and fresh offa signin’ his rights away to the U.S. Army.  Prime pickin’s.  Well he was at a bar and some large fella wanted a piece of him—took his girl, no doubt—and I came in right at that time.  Offered him a deal, that I could whoop more barflies ’n him.  Took me up on it, and was sure he’d beat me, that he could knock out ten men no problem.  I bet him twelve, said if he won, I’d give him luck on that battlefield, but if I won his soul was mine.

Thought I had it in the bag, I did.  Those young bucks, ya know, they’re always overestimatin’ themselves.  It’s just like I said just now: them military brats, they seen a couple movies and had some hardships in life and think they’re General Lee (remember him?  Yeah, he was one of mine).

I worked through my twelve men in that bar no problem.  Kid said—can ya believe it?—he said it was cute, my fightin’.  Well, of course I reminded him of our bet, and he shrugged and we walked into the bar next door and wouldn’t ya know it, this kid could _fight_.

Fought like I myself was tryin’ to get out of him.  Average height, could put on a couple pounds, but I’m bound for Heaven if he wasn’t determined.  Never seen someone so bent on punchin’ men.  Worked through those guys in a minute flat.

Don’t look at me like that, they weren’t pushovers, good-sized men, let me tell ya.  Then he gone through one more, some guy whose soul I came to take a couple years later (crazy, that Okie was), hit lucky number thirteen.  Looked over at me and grinned.

_Well?  Better not welch on your deal, mister_ , he said to me.  Then he dusted off his shirt and left like he owned that darn joint.

Believe ya me, I ain’t one to go back on my word, and I gave him that luck.  Tried, anyhow.  Only saved him a couple cases of trench foot or bullet wound infection, didn’t need to touch him.  Kid had talent.

Thought he forgot about me, to tell ya the truth.  But I met him again later, not meanin’ to, I was lookin’ for someone else, and he aimed this gun at me like it was part of his own arm and said—can ya believe it?—he said if I wanted a rematch, he’d do it.

I seen death in men’s eyes before, caused it many a time, but in that kid’s eyes as he held that gun and did the biddin’ of a real piece of work, there was nothin’ there.  Told him I played fair, and I wasn’t gonna fight him, and he lowered that gun and walked away and I swear he was disappointed.  Never met a man who wanted to die, I can tell ya that much, least not ’til this one.

And let me tell ya this: last thing most men seen is the face of that kid what got anger in his soul and not much else.  I should’a known better when I first met him.  Ya can’t beat a man with a soul black as tar, ya just can’t.  What they got in that head of theirs is worse’n anythin’ I could cook up.

Yeah, that Eliot Spencer, only guy what ever won against me.  Ain’t no one like him.

So ya sit on down, and let me tell ya this, too: pray to me, pray to that God fella, pray to anyone ya like that ya never meet him.  Ya won’t meet anythin’ after that.


End file.
